With Each Passing Day
by EnlightenedSkye
Summary: Try as he might, William can't keep from accidentally frightening his wife. [Juliacentric, Elderly!Jilliam, mid to late 1940s. Common Life AU, but should stand alone. Rated for talk of death and sickness. Complete]


A/N: Just a little thing to tide us over while I research my newest chapter fic. I don't have any grandparents left, but if I could choose, I would want them to be like William and Julia. My father and I often joke about how we anticipate and older William to react with modern technology, and I just had to put it into words. Let's put this in late 1940s. I'll probably address what happens to George and Emily in another upcoming story.

This is Common Life AU, but can stand alone. Mostly Jilliam, but passing mentions of Gemily and OC/OC. Complete oneshot.

 **With Each Passing Day**

Now that he had retired from police work, Murdoch's primary purpose seemed to be giving his wife a series of heart attacks.

However, these weren't the vascular kind, the variety that had taken the lives of so many of their friends. No, what William did was far more sinister. Julia would be in the kitchen seeing to dinner with her daughter-in-law, or listening to a radio show in the parlor, when his frantic calls for her attention would take her all over their home.

The first time had been before the war, whereupon waking up as his usual time before the dawn he discovered that a key piece of technology had been replaced overnight. Julia, who preferred to sleep in now that she had the freedom to do so, had interpreted this as an emergency and run down the stairs in her dressing gown. This was somewhat of a feat, as the two of them were both nearly eighty years old and hunched over with age. What she found was not her dear husband in need of her medical expertise, but picking up the receiver on their son's new rotary dial telephone and marveling, "I simply _cannot_ believe it! There's no need for an operator!"

Over the course of the past ten years, their home had undergone a fundamental shift in occupants. At first their dear friends George and Emily lived upstairs along with their two youngest surviving daughters, but as their financial situation stabilized in the latter part of the decade, they were back in their former house on Gerrard Street. There the couple died a few years back, only a few hours apart and presumably in each other's arms. While Emily had suffered the scourge of cancer of the breast that was detected too late, Julia didn't have to even glance at the autopsy report to know that her husband had died of a broken heart. It probably read like " _cardiac failure_ " or " _natural causes_ ", but if there was one thing she'd learned in her years of practicing medicine, it was that the sentimental occasionally trumped the scientific.

She suspected that when it was their time, she and William would shuffle off the mortal coil in a similar manner. While such a thought in her younger years would have stolen her breath and riddled her with fear, Julia had to admit that she was no longer afraid to die. She'd had a good run, and was confident that her mark on the world would be a significant one. It was all she could do to hope that the rest of her family felt the same.

Now dwelling in the attic space was her adopted son Felix, a respected business lawyer, and his lovely bride, Rose, a prolific crime and adventure novelist. While they surely could have afforded a home of their own with the sum of their salaries, after the death of her mother and father, Rose Crabtree had insisted on their four children growing up in the presence of their paternal grandparents. And so Julia lived in a perpetual state of amusement, for her evenings were filled with the pitter patter of little feet and excruciatingly detailed accounts of school days. In the year following the allied victory, their oldest was ten and the youngest but six. This included two boys and a set of bright eyed female twins who each took turns sitting in their grandfather's lap to hear his stories of his bygone days of detective work.

William remained as mentally sharp as ever, even as age had softened his disposition. He was perpetually clean shaven, preferring to dress in the way he had for fifty years, all dusky suits and pinstriped neckties. While the world outside his window marched onward into the future, hell bent on progress, he kept his nose buried in novels and waited for the advancements to come to him. He was particularly fond of a young man named Asimov whose work he followed religiously, poring over his short stories until he could recite the three laws of robotics by heart. Mr. Orwell kept the two of them titillated with his barbed social commentary, which they would often discuss in the evenings over a cup of tea.

As he grew older, the former police detective grew more interested in children's pursuits, namely the illustrated comic stories that cost ten cents at the nearest corner store. Julia supposed this began with little Andrew's fascination with the character known as Superman. One night, as the boy babbled excitedly about the newest hero in _Action Comics_ , the older gentleman had perked right up and said, "You know, I once flew with an old friend of mine."

And that had been it. The rest of the evening was spent in reverie of James Pendrick, the eccentric that for a time had become inexplicably involved in their cases at every turn. The children were amazed, but Julia couldn't help recalling that many years ago he'd promised to take her with him if he ever flew again.

"You ought to ask Violet," Rose encouraged her later as the ladies sat on the porch enjoying the autumn breeze. She was referring to her older sister, whose husband Lieutenant Colonel John Brackenreid had served overseas for a stint the previous year. "She tells me that commercial airflight is a growing business. You might soar among the clouds as of yet."

Julia dearly hoped so, for there were many things she had yet to do in her lifetime. In the days of her youth, she and her sister Ruby had written a list of tasks they wished to accomplish. She was averse to admitting that her counterpart had been a little more exciting than she, even traveling to Africa or South America on business. But then again, she'd been a doctor and a suffragette in a time where women weren't expected to venture outside the home; surely that had to count for _something_.

Some of her most enthralling evenings were spent at the cinema, where the invention of technicolor had set the industry on end. And to think that she'd ever been impressed with the constabulary's kinetoscope! She most enjoyed shots of nature, for the colors were saturated to the point she would never see in the great outdoors. While William was concerned with the specifications of the projector and something called _frame rate_ , Julia's heart skipped a beat every time the lights in the auditorium dimmed.

Now that she was older, even the most mundane goings-on in her world were suddenly every bit more meaningful. She relished the opportunity to sit alongside her husband and observe the fire crackling in the hearth, clinging to him so fast that he advised her he wouldn't soon attempt to escape. They played countless rounds of Monopoly, a game that their granddaughters Maura and Lucy had received for Christmas, but they seemed to enjoy much more. The couple soon found that whoever was chosen to be the banker would often win, and soon deputized a third party to officiate. His favorite property was Marvin Gardens; hers, the Boardwalk.

The television set in their sitting room was a welcome addition. Felix brought it home one evening, announcing that with the bonus he'd received from his firm they'd had a little extra room in their budget. His wife had initially chastised him, for he didn't think to consult her beforehand, but as the assembly was put together and the grayscale image crackled to life, all complaints fell by the wayside. While the children were ecstatic that they could watch American football games in real time, William was determined to break open the back panel and see what lay beneath. He did this often in the middle of the day, and she'd come running at the sound of her name, only to be confronted with the information that _this was the cathode system_ and _this was the antennae relay_. Julia loved her husband, but she wasn't sure just how many more surprises she could take.

Violet came to call one afternoon, just as William had just returned from his daily constitutional. At that moment she was up to her elbows in dishwashing suds, but the young physician was welcomed with open arms.

She had always been close with the children of the friends she met in what was referred to among them as the golden age of Station House Number Four, especially George's eldest daughter, for she'd trained her in the capacity of a docent at the children's hospital. She remembered how the girl had nearly passed out the first time she'd sat in on surgery on a man not much younger than she. Now Violet was fully grown with a husband, two children, and a successful practice. It was astonishing how quickly time passed.

When the young doctor heard of her plight, she replied, "Perhaps you might give him a taste of his own." From the depths of her carpet bag came a thick stack of medical journals that had already been passed around her colleagues. This was their tradition, as Julia was a naturally curious woman who constantly wanted to know what was going on in her former line of work. Gesturing to the volume on the top, she added, "I read that Mr. Fleming's penicillin is now available for civilian use."

This would do quite nicely. Bidding a fond _adieu_ to her protegee, Julia waited a few minutes until she heard her husband come down the stairs, most likely with an armful of radio parts he'd recently salvaged to tinker with. Then, pressing her hand to her bosom and swooning like a screen siren, she gasped, "William!"

To his credit, he came running along in less than a minute. His expression, however, was nothing short of stricken. "What's the matter?"

Suddenly she felt guilty. Holding up the heavy bound notebook, Julia demurred, "They've found a way to mass produce penicillin."

His eyes widened. "Produce _what_?"

Because she wasn't the type to throw scandalous language around unless it was warranted, she quickly corrected, " _Penicillin_ , my dear. The age of infection is over."

William leaned against the counter top, clutching his chest in an attempt to slow his breathing. It occurred to her then; he had genuinely been convinced that she was in some sort of trouble. Were these the mannerisms he'd sported the time she'd been captured by James Gillies and buried alive, or every time she went to see to a case in the bad part of town?

"I'm glad to hear it," he huffed, running his fingers through his perfect coif of white hair. Looking into her eyes for just a moment, however, he was suddenly wise to her scheme and smiled. Such was the outcome of forty years of marriage.

"Would you care to catch the matinee with me, William?" She offered, wanting to clear the air between them.

He accepted immediately, and the two moved off to collect their coats. They lingered for a moment before the mirror in the foyer, staring at the elderly couple gazing back at them. For a fraction of a second, Julia could see herself stepping for the first time into the home her husband had built just for her. She wore a fascinator and sported a parasol in the crook of her elbow, while his bowler hat was placed squarely on his head. As she took in the wooden floors and impossibly high ceilings, she'd leaped into his arms, kissing him on each cheek. They had been so in love back then, but that paled in comparison to how they now adored each other in increasing capacity with each passing day.

Just glancing at her husband, Julia could tell he was experiencing a similar reverie. Quietly, they embraced, and it occurred to her they were naught but wrinkled skin and brittle bones. She wrapped her arms around his midsection and squeezed until it hurt, savoring the moment. Each one was only going to become more precious.

 **The End**


End file.
